“You’re free to go now. I may contact you in a few days, possibly before your regular Saturday appointment. Certainly there will be no meeting with you before I’ve analyzed all your sessions and concluded something we can really work on. Goodbye for now, have a nice day.”
Chapter Six
When Hawk was having his emergency session, his father, Terrence Hawkins Archibald O’Brien, came home. He strutted forward with all the graceful power of the masterful male lion padding through his kingdom. Indeed, the king was home and all the household servants, ground keepers, people who chauffeured him and everybody else who received his money twice a month had better bloody well know it immediately or sooner that the Mighty One was present, if they wanted to keep their jobs, skins, asses and so on.
He roared into his mansion, growling commands in every direction as he headed for his favorite leather chair in the library. Exactly two seconds after he was seated Davis appeared with three things: an enormous silver urn full of coffee, a silver humidor containing a secret cache of the very best imported Cuban cigars, and a telephone with enough control buttons to baffle a computer genius.
Terrence Hawkins Archibald O’Brien put a Cuban in his mouth while Davis supplied the silver lighter and the flame. Terrence Hawkins Archibald O’Brien inhaled and exhaled three times before he said, “Thank you, Davis. How has my son been?”
Davis damn nearly stuttered. One did not relay bad news to This Man. “He hasn’t been well, sir. His dreams have increased in numbers and evidently they are somewhat terrifying. I have heard him screaming many times but haven’t interfered, as you requested, sir.”
“Did he say anything?”
“Yes, but it was mostly unintelligible except for a person’s name, sir.”
Terrence Hawkins Archibald O’Brien’s slate gray eyes mirrored stark fear. His lips trembled. There was a shadow coming upon his land.
“Erika.”
“Yes, sir. He’s said the name more than once, sir.”
“My son, is he attending college today?”
“No, sir.”
“Where is he? Do you know?”
“He didn’t elaborate his plans to me, sir, but your spying system on the mansion’s telephones did. Master Hawkins was to see Dr. Helmut Tyler at 9:30, sir.”
“Very well, Davis, that will be all for now. Stand by for more orders.”
Davis left. Terrence Hawkins Archibald O’Brien smoked his Cuban. Four puffs. As he pulled the cigar from his mouth his fingers trembled, showing fear in a man who had only known it twice in his life. When his wife was murdered and Hawkins was badly wounded. And secondly when Hawkins grieved so much over his mother’s death he had a nervous breakdown.
He glanced at his watch. It was 10:30. He would call Dr. Tyler at 10:35. His fingers holding the Cuban trembled.
He loved his son.
His son didn’t return the love. He returned the worst thing of all.
Indifference.
It was his fault. His worldwide business connections demanded his constant attention to where he was always going somewhere in his private jet. On occasion he’d asked Hawkins to journey with him and always received a flat refusal.
He snubbed out the almost whole Cuban and lighted another. There were few times in his life when he didn’t have complete control. It became his bed partner twenty five years ago, the day his father died leaving in his possession the O’Brien Empire. Three days after the burial ceremony he traveled to Russia and married ballerina Inessa Ivanova. His first purchase, valued at twelve million to certain Russian officials if they would look the other way long enough for ballerina Inessa Ivanova to leave Russia with him.
When Hawkins was born he had the best of all possible worlds. He had a son and a wife he more than cherished. But a thoughtless act and an insane murder were to change his life. While Inessa was being shot down in the street and Hawkins forever terrorized, he was with another woman.
10:35. “Mr. O’Brien, may I help you?”
“That’s why you hear my voice. Tell me about Hawkins. Give me a brief report now. I’ll expect a full one in twenty four hours.”
Ten minutes later, “Tyler, do you think Erika is somebody he knew years ago?”
“Wouldn’t you know that answer better than me?”
“Yes, yes, of course. But I’m still asking you. Is it possible?”
“Real or imagined by your son, Mr. O’Brien? Give me a choice.”
“Real, maybe somebody he met at college, or even before.”
“If she is real we have a whole new set of problems. We would still have to investigate why his memory of her is only bits and pieces and why he seems to remember more about her when he’s asleep than awake. During his first session he had almost total forgetfulness. Now he’s beginning to remember more.”
“Isn’t that the usual process an amnesia victim goes through?”
“Well, yes, some do. But Hawkins is very different from the usual amnesia victim, if he can actually be tagged as one. I hope Erika isn’t real, because Hawkins feels she’s coming closer. If she is a dream we can eventually handle the dream. If she is real, how do you stop what she might do?”
O’Brien’s inner anxiety metamorphosed into horror and sour sweat. In silence he puffed his Cuban three times before a plan struck his soul. He smiled as he felt control.
If a person has a problem face it head on, turn it around and kick its ass.
“Dr. Tyler, listen carefully.”
Chapter Seven
When Shanna and Hawk drove into O’Brien Mansion’s parking area, Samuelson, the automobile attendant, greeted them. “Your father arrived two hours ago. As usual it was pomp and circumstance.”
Hawk exchanged glances with Shanna. She squeezed his left arm.
Davis greeted them. “Your father is in the library, sir.”
Hawk nodded. Yes, his father would be in the library. It was his favorite area in the mansion where he could be among all the great people in the world living and dead. They were there, neatly arranged in wall-to-wall bookcases, expensive leather bound first editions, volume after volume of the writers, the scientists, the politicians, the thinkers, and of course there were six slim volumes penned by Terrence Hawkins Archibald O’Brien.
Hawk touched the library door’s antique brass doorknob. It became slippery with his sweat. How would his father treat him this time? He would probably ask him to go somewhere with him. Should he? He never had.
Please, father, this time say that you love me.”
“Hawkins, it’s nice to see you.”
“And you also, father.”
“Shanna, you’re as beautiful as ever, I see.”
“Thank you.”
“Well, come in you two. Find chairs. I have something to say.”
Hawk found a chair opposite from his father’s desk. Shanna sat in a black leather couch.
“Would you like coffee?”
O’Brien rang for Davis.
“I just finished a conversation with Dr. Tyler, Hawkins. He informed me you have been troubled, more so than usual.”
“I’m sure you know everything so there’s no need for me to add more,” snapped Hawk.
“You could say ‘welcome back, Father. I’ve missed you.’”
“That would be a lie. When have you ever stayed home long enough for me to know what it’s like to have a father?”
Davis came with a silver coffee urn, bone china cups and saucers, silver spoons, cream and sugar. O’Brien and Hawk accepted coffee while Shanna declined. She jumped up as uncontrollable anger deepened her beauty. “Just what the hell is wrong with you two? You’re not gladiators out for a kill.”
“You had better explain yourself, young lady,” O’Brien said. “That kind of talk will get you nowhere with me.”
Shanna’s brown eyes shot chain lightning. “Stuff it, you fossilized old idiot. I don’t have to explain anything to you. But I do have words to say. I’ve been dating Hawk for a year. During that time you, Mr. Terrence Hawkins Archibald Smell My Armpits, I’m Important O’Brien, have been present exactly three times and for a total of less than six seconds of friendlessness between you and Hawk. You talk at each other using acid tipped words searching for an opening to dive in for the final verbal kill.”
“You’ve said enough. You have my permission to go now.”
“You’re such a socially stupid ass. You, Mr. Not Important, are the only person I know who could flunk a personality test. Do you actually think for even the brevity of a second you have any control over me? Try it. I’ll tear your head off and kick it around for an hour or so before I stuff it up your ass. I’m leaving now, but only because I refuse to sit around and listen to jackasses braying stupidity at each other. Hawk, when you can take no more of your asshole father come and get me. We’ll drive somewhere and have a long talk.”
With that Shanna grabbed Hawk’s coffee cup and threw the hot coffee in O’Brien’s face. “Sue me if you dare,” she said and walked from the library. She unhinged the ultra-expensive mahogany door when she slammed it.
O’Brien grabbed a cloth napkin from the coffee tray to wipe his head and face.
His words trembled. “Shanna has overabundant spunk, Hawkins. That’s a desirable quality, if properly used.”
“I’m surprised father. I can hardly believe what I just witnessed. My father, outgunned by a fire and brimstone lady named Shanna Mason. I’ve seen a miracle. You said the wrong words to her. The next time the three of us are together make sure you choose carefully what you say. If you don’t you might find yourself down on your mahogany floor looking for your head, providing it’s not up your ass. She did promise that would happen. You’ve just learned nobody wins an argument with Shanna.”
“You have strange concepts for defeat and miracles, Hawkins. However, let’s drop this conversation and discuss something more pleasant, at least there’s a remote chance it might be. I’ve arranged for the reopening of Inessa Mansion. It will be your home from now on. Do you have any comments?”
Excitement electrified him. Inessa Mansion! From there he could search for Erika. “I have nothing to say, father.”
O’Brien shook his head. He sighed. “I’m opening Inessa Mansion because you were born there, and it’s where you had your first dream of Erika.”
Hawk’s voice erupted. “Yes, I lived there father. You didn’t. After mother was gone you sealed off all her mansion except rooms for me, the servants and a governess. Since the murder no one has stepped foot into the areas she and you occupied. You started global hopping, became a total workaholic, made billions and never came home once until you built this mansion.”
O’Brien nodded. “True. I won’t argue with you there. Every room in Inessa Mansion is to be opened. It will be fully staffed and ready for you to move into in less than a week’s time. As I said before, Hawkins, it’s your mansion.”
“Why so generous, father? You’ve never done anything in your life that wasn’t calculated to make more money.”
“Finding a way to return you to being normal will make me mentally wealthy. I need a son to control my empire when I become too old to do so. I’m certain moving you back to Inessa Mansion will solve your problem. Dr. Tyler said it might worsen it. I’m betting he’s wrong.”
“Worsen my condition? How could it do that?”
“Never mind what Dr. Tyler thinks, Hawkins. My gut reaction tells me if you make Inessa Mansion your home you will find out more about your dreams and Erika. Everything will then come to a head to where you won’t be troubled anymore. Want to try?”
“Yes, more than anything else in this world.”
“Good. Then you shall move into Inessa Mansion in one week.”
“And you, Father?”
The granite features trembled. Hawk noticed and smiled.
“I’ll stay here and follow my business career.”
“Of course, I shouldn’t have expected anything else. It’s the way you’ve been since mother was killed.”
“Yes, ever since. I know you have never forgiven me for not being there to help you and your mother.”
Hawk shook his head. “You would have been killed too. I don’t blame you for not being there. I blame you for what you were doing. Was she worth it, father?”
“No. I lost everything I ever wanted that night. Does your wound ever bother you?”
“No, and after seven years I hardly notice the scar.”
“Good. When you go to Inessa Mansion take Shanna Mason with you. She’s a vicious jungle panther, the exact kind of undying love affair you need.”
Chapter Eight
A week passed. Searching the city for Erika proved fruitless. Needing a break from endless enquiring and pounding the pavement, Hawk phoned Shanna and asked her to go with him to Inessa Mansion.
She was standing in her illuminated driveway. Hawk saw the playful light dancing in her brown eyes telling him he was in for a time, one that usually created head shaking dismay in him. He named her playfulness, ‘Bug in the ear mischief thoughts.’ When she had them it was best to go along with whatever was tickling her brain at the moment. It was only fair. She tolerated his weirdness.
“Get out of the driver’s seat, Hawk. Your Porsche is mine for the night. I’ll show you how to drive, you seventy mile an hour snail.”